“What the hell are they waiting for?” Vaccaro wondered.
“The Krauts are always smarter than we give them credit for,” Cole replied. “They’re not gonna rush out into the open.”
He had the telescopic sight to his eye, hoping that a target would present itself.
For now, the German troops kept to the cover of the trees and tanks. None of the tanks had its hatch open. These tanks meant business.
Vaccaro seemed content to let Cole do the shooting for now. “See anything?”
“They’re keeping to the trees,” he said. “If there’s infantry with ’em, I can’t see them. Ain’t nothin’ to shoot at yet.”
Like the Americans, the Germans also had a few tricks up their sleeves. Instead of crossing the field, the panzers opened fire from the edge of the forest opposite the US position. Shells from the German guns began pummeling the US line. Due to the angle of the slope, some of the high-explosive rounds hit the frozen ground and ricocheted to explode in the forest behind the men. Even above the detonation of the rounds, they could hear the cracking and splitting of the wood.
Plenty of shells found their target. The German gunners had good aim and at this relatively close range were able to zero in on individual foxholes. Shells hit, exploding with such force that whatever had been in that foxhole was obliterated. Clods of earth — and worse — came raining down. Every man on that slope wished he had dug his foxhole deeper. They gripped their helmets tight and pressed their faces into the cold ground, willing themselves to sink deeper. Dirt clogged their nostrils and got into their mouths, but nobody cared. Meanwhile, shrapnel whistled overhead.
Every man had already been reminded not to fasten the strap of his helmet. This was because the concussive force of an explosive shell could get cupped inside a helmet like a pail scooping up water. The sheer force of it could take a man’s head clean off. Cole had seen it happen to more than one greenbean. With the strap left undone, the blast might blow the helmet off but leave his head attached to his shoulders.
More shells struck as the bombardment by the panzers continued. So far their own three tanks hidden nearby had held their fire.
The jeep that had carried Captain Brown out from Bastogne was parked within view near the boundary with the woods. A shell hit the jeep, and it was hurled skyward before its carcass went rolling away, fire pouring from the wreckage. Fortunately, there was nobody aboard, the driver having taken shelter in a foxhole.
“Holy hell!” the captain exclaimed, watching his ride reduced to a burning hulk.
After several minutes, the Germans seemed to determine that they had done enough to soften up the US defenses. The firing stopped, and the panzers came roaring out from the shelter of the trees on the far side of the field.
Cole lifted his head up enough to determine that there were eight panzers. One of them was bigger than the rest — a Tiger tank. No wonder the world had felt like it was coming to an end.
The panzers were not alone. As they churned across the snowy field, lines of infantry emerged. Cole was shocked at the sheer number of enemy troops. Most of the time in combat, he’d seen only small squads of Germans. There must have been close to a hundred soldiers advancing.
Team SNAFU didn’t have nearly that many men, and they had already taken a beating from those panzers. The tanks fired more shots as they advanced across the field.
Still, there was no response from the American side. No artillery shells fell, and the Shermans remained silent, hidden among the trees.
“Hold your fire!” Lieutenant Mulholland shouted, loud enough for them to hear over the ringing in their ears.
Cole did as he was told, although he had already picked out a target. Some damn fool tank commander had finally stuck his head out of the hatch. Cole put his crosshairs on the Kraut and waited for the lieutenant’s command.
He wasn’t the only one. Every rifle and every machine gun were now trained on the Germans.
“Let them get closer,” they heard the captain shout in the distance. “Open up on them at four hundred yards.”
To Cole that seemed foolishly close. The panzers would quickly close that distance and push them off the hill. He kept his rifle on the target, itching to pull the trigger.
“Fire!”
His sights still lined up on the panzer, Cole squeezed off a round and watched with satisfaction as the tank commander slumped over.
He worked the bolt, searching for another target.
All around him, the roar of rifles and machine-gun fire filled his ears.
It was a slaughter. The first burst of fire decimated the German infantry. Caught out in the open field, they had no cover as the hail of bullets clawed at them. The snow began to turn red with German blood.
Then the air itself seemed to shatter as the artillery in Bastogne opened fire, the shells screaming overhead and landing amid the line of panzers. Geysers of earth soared skyward.
